


Krav Ma-OH MY GOD!

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Nothing but Smut! [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Annoyed Sam Winchester, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Blow Jobs, Bodyguard Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Hand Jobs, Humor, Krav Maga, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Dean Winchester, references to real events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: As the dutiful older brother, Dean does whatever is necessary to keep Sammy safe. And when little Sammy becomes a world famous supermodel, that job is all the more important. So in order to protect him, Dean looks into hiring a second bodyguard, someone who he knows will have Sam's back; but when Castiel Novak shows up for the interview, Dean really wants the guy to have something else.Yes ... that was innuendo.





	Krav Ma-OH MY GOD!

Protecting Sammy has always been Dean’s number one priority. He protected him from the monster under his bed, that mean neighbor’s cat who always tried to eat his pet lizard, and Donny Hascum in eighth grade, who once told Sam that he would end up being homeless because their dad couldn’t afford to buy them the latest Nikes. Donny was obviously not the brightest bulb, so Dean didn’t feel too bad when he punched his lights out. Anyway, if Sam was scared of it or hurt by it, Dean would be there to protect him from it—that’s what big brothers do; but he never could’ve imagined it’d one day turn into a paying job.

That’s apparently what happens though when your baby brother grows up to be seven feet tall, with girly hair and the trademarked _Winchester-cheekbones._ It happened fast too. _Overnight_. Sam went from helping out his then-girlfriend by modeling in their college’s charity fashion show, to posing in _real_ photo shoots for Calvin Klein and Abercrombie. It was almost unbelievable, and Dean laughed his ass off when Sam came home and told him that he’d been “discovered” but when those checks started rolling in, and that moose’s face began popping up on billboards and in between the pages of magazines, Dean wasn’t laughing anymore. That gangly kid is now America’s _it-boy_ , and everyone seems to want a piece of him … much to Dean’s chagrin.

_Why the fuck do people have to be so crazy?_

It was fine when Sam was first starting out—no one knew him yet; but as soon as he began walking the famous runways and doing cameos on TV and shit, the insane-o’s started climbing out of the woodwork. Thankfully, Dean has been there to keep the majority of them at bay, but the more popular Sammy got, the harder protecting him became, so that’s why they’re _here_ —interviewing person after person, seeing who is up for the job of “bodyguard to the beautiful”.

 

“This is crazy, Dean. My agency has a company that they can hire from—I don’t know why you think _you_ need to be the one in charge of this” Sam complains, slumping back in his chair while pouting like an impatient toddler.

Dean rolls his eyes as he sifts through the pile of prospective applicants. “I told you a million times, I don’t trust those companies.”

“You used to work for one of those companies!”

“Exactly why I don’t trust ‘em!” Dean grumbles in exasperation. “They don’t pay their guys enough to really care about any of the jobs they’re hired for, and a new person is always rotating in, so no one knows the situation. It’s impersonal, and I ain’t risking your safety because you don’t want to sit through a few friggin’ interviews.”

“ _A few?_ ” Sam scoffs. “Try forty five! I didn’t think there could be this many people even interested in the job, yet you seemed to find every last one of them.”

Dean rolls his eyes again. “Yeah well—after watching a scary cat lady wield scissors at your little brother just so she can cut off some of his hair, you become more inclined to be thorough.”

“Or _paranoid_ ” Sam snips.

“Yep—that too. Now can we get on with it? I want to find someone before you’re old and ugly and all of this is pointless.”

Sam gestures dramatically towards the door across the empty, rented studio, as if to imply, he’s been waiting on Dean this whole time—which Dean supposes, is actually true.

So with a snort, he reaches over to the side of the table where an intercom button has been set up, eventually pressing it and calling out “Next!”

In just a few seconds, the door swings open and a young man walks through, looking fairly nervous—and about six inches shorter than Dean was expecting. “Um … h-hello” the young man stutters, briskly walking over to take a seat in the empty chair set up across from Dean and Sam’s table. “H-how are you doing?”

Dean gawks, not sure how the hell this kid even got in here, so he checks out the resume in front of him once more. “ _You’re_ Seth?” he asks a moment later.

“Yes, sir. Seth Strauss.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow. “Seth … did you lie on your application?”

Sam shoves a quick, hard elbow into Dean’s ribs. “Dean! You can’t just _ask_ someone that! I think it violates some privacy law or something.”

But Dean can’t really bother to care at this point. “His resume says he’s six-two and weighs two hundred twenty pounds … but you’re what? A buck n’ a half, give or take?” Dean clacks, glaring at Seth in a fury.

“I … I uh …” the terrified man begins, seeming like he wants to melt into his own seat now.

“Dean, give him a chance … just because he’s not big and burly doesn’t mean he can’t do the job” Sam whispers, taking on his usual role of ‘all around softy’.

Dean huffs, but gives in and tosses the papers onto the table, finally teetering back in his chair. He folds his arms across his chest. “Alright— _fine_. So … tell me, Seth. Ya ever been in a fight?”

Seth’s eyes grow ten times the size of his face and he swallows thickly. “Uh, I uh … no … no, sir. I haven’t.”

Dean stops himself from giving Sam that _I-told-you-so_ look. “Okay … do you know any martial arts? You a boxer? Practice any types of ultimate fighting?”

Seth gulps again before shaking his head.

Now Dean _does_ give Sammy that look. “So—Seth, have you done _any_ kinds of personal security before … ya know, _other_ _than_ protecting your squad in your nightly game of Call of Duty?”

“I … uh … _no_.”

Sam frowns with disapproval, but it’s apparent he can’t argue with Dean on this one. “Seth … _man,_ why did you apply for this job if you don’t have any experience?” he asks, still sounding too soft and caring for Dean’s taste.

After some more humming and hawing, Seth’s cheeks turn ten shades of pink and he finally looks up into Sam’s eyes, something that Dean noticed, he’d had _yet_ to do. “I—uh … I just … I wanted to meet you! You’re kinda my idol. You’re like … you’re tall and good looking, but you’re not dumb. You graduated from Stanford, so you’re smart and nice too … and I’ve collected all your ads and photoshoots … you’re seriously like a god and I just wanted to—”

“Okay, I heard enough!” Dean barks, standing from the table to march around and pull Seth up by the collar of his shirt. The poor kid looks like he’s about to wet himself— _exactly_ what Dean was hoping for.

“Dean, c’mon … let him go. He’s not hurting anyone.”

Dean whips back around to face Sam who had just stood up as well, and the motion causes Seth to flail about like a ragdoll. “Not _hurting_ anyone? He’s a freakin’ _nut_ who falsified his application just to sneak in here and drool all over you! It’s people like _him_ that make _me_ need a partner in the first place!”

“Yeah—but like _, look at him_ ” Sam grumbles, pointing down at the now-shivering bag of bones that is _Seth Strauss_. “He wouldn’t be able to hurt me if he tried. He did something dumb, _yeah_ —okay, but you don’t need to terrify the kid!”

“Oh Jesus! C’mon, Sam! We’re wasting time even talking about this!”

“Let him go, Dean!” Sam grits, and with a growl—Dean finally drops the frightened boy, causing him to crumble like a dried up sand castle upon the white tile of the studio.

“Hey, sorry about that, dude” Sam offers, walking around the table in order to help Seth back to his feet. “My brother can get a little over zealous, but he means well.”

He’s still shivering, but then Seth’s shakes stop the moment Sam puts his ginormous hand onto his shoulder. “Th—thank you so much! You’re seriously an inspiration!”

“Nah—thank _you_.  Not sure how someone like me could inspire anybody, but I appreciate you saying so.”

And as if that was his cue, Seth begins rattling off all the little things in Sam’s life that he admires— _just like a true stalker_ ; and the next thing Dean knows, ten minutes have passed and he’s holding up Seth’s phone, taking a picture of him and Sam together. Then, he watches in annoyed awe as Sam actually _signs_ the fake application before sending the kid on his way.

“I should just let the crazies eat you alive—it seems like that’s what you’re aiming for” Dean grunts once they’re finally alone again.

“People just get over-enthusiastic, Dean. You need to learn to chill.”

“I need to …? _What?_ Hell no! _You_ need to learn to be more cautious! You ain’t a _nobody_ anymore, Sam! Once your face is up beside Tyra’s and Giselle’s, you can’t trust anyone! That kid may’ve been harmless, but he could’ve just as easily been a little psycho who wanted to carve out your spleen for a keepsake!”

Sam grimaces at that. “Thanks for the vivid image.”

“No problem. Now, can we get on with this? The next guy is the real deal. I saw him when I was comin’ in earlier. I think he just may be the one.”

Sam sighs but nods, and Dean presses the intercom, calling in the next candidate; and soon, the door is opening up—producing a grizzled, bald, beast of a man who looks like a could kill someone with a sneeze.

“Sargent Hank Matthews?” Dean asks, standing up and reaching out just as the man approaches.

“Yes, sir. You must be Dean and Sam Winchester. Glad to make your acquaintance.”

Dean shakes the man’s hand vigorously before peeking over and smirking at Sam, letting his baby brother know that _this_ is what he’s had in mind all along. He then lets go and sits back down, pulling Hank’s resume off the table to look it over. “So—you’re an army veteran?”

Hank sits down as well and nods. “Yes, sir. thirty five years of service. Made it through two wars and over three hundred missions. My entire life has been in the military.”

Sam straightens out as he listens to Hank speak, finally breaking in once there’s a chance to do so. “Thank you, sir—for all your dedicated service.”

Hank nods again but he doesn’t smile. His face stays serious, never changing—and Dean thinks that the guy may not know _how_ to change it at this point.

“That’s mighty impressive. So, you obviously know how to take a man down if necessary.”

Hank lifts his chin proudly. “I do.”

Dean beams. “And you’re obviously good under pressure. I mean, a _warzone_ ain’t exactly easy-going.”

“I do well in high pressure situations, yes.”

Dean is feeling practically giddy now. “Well – I gotta be honest with you, Sargent. I have a whole list of questions here, but they almost seem insulting with a resume like yours. I mean, this job ain’t nothin’ compared to what you’ve dealt with. I just don’t want you to get bored watching this guy fix his hair all day.” Dean chuckles while patting Sam on the shoulder for emphasis—and Sam quickly smacks his hand away, apparently not appreciating the joke.

“If you hire me, sir—I would not take any aspect of the job, lightly. I would be dedicated to ensuring that your brother is safe in any situation. I would be on high alert and always on the lookout for potential threats. No one would make it past me … not without takin’ one hell of a beating first. I can promise you that. If they’re a threat, then the threat will be eliminated.”

Dean’s humor quickly fades when he realizes that Sargent Hank isn't joking around; which is good for the _job_ , but it may make things a little tense. “Well, uh … I’m sure that if we end up selecting you, we wouldn’t be disappointed in your work.”

“I assure you, you wouldn’t be.”

The room stills for a moment and Dean finally clears his throat. “Alright, well uh—Sargent Matthews, thank you for coming in. We still got one or two more people to talk to, but you can expect a call with our decision by tomorrow afternoon.”

Hank stands back up shakes Dean’s hand once more. “I appreciate your time” and with that, he turns on his heel and marches stiffly out of the room.

Both Dean and Sam let out a strangled breath as soon as the door shuts.

“That dude was _intense_ ” Sam whispers, shaking out his hair as if all that seriousness got tangled up in it.

“Yeah, but—he’s the best candidate so far. He may be mega-strict, but if he can protect you from the loonies, then I’m alright with it.”

“Yeah—but, _Dean_. Do you really want to spend all day, every day with someone who would never even crack a smile? I mean—that guy was _all business_. I’m afraid he’d _kill_ someone just for lookin’ at me wrong.”

Dean shrugs. “Is that so bad?”

Sam immediately whacks him in the arm. “See— _you_ can joke, but I don’t know if Hank can. Plus, I’d feel like I’d always need to be on my best behavior around him. I mean—I don’t know if you felt it, but with him sitting here just now, it was like having Dad around again.”

It’s true, Dean got the same vibe; and, it _would_ be weird giving orders to someone twice his age with ten times his experience. The power dynamic would always feel off, and that may make everyone miserable in the long run. “Well—we got one more guy to see, so who knows; but out of all of ‘em, Hank’s lookin’ like the one to beat. I’m sure he’d chill out once we got used to him and he got used to us.”

“Yeah, maybe” Sam mutters, yawning a second later before using his pinky nail to pick something out of his teeth.

Dean grimaces. “And it might do us some good to have someone around to keep us decent.”

“We’re not _children,_ Dean. We don’t need a parent watching what we do twenty-four-seven.”

“Well, _one of us_ ain’t a child” Dean scoffs, pressing the intercom button to call in the last person before Sam can really protest.

“You’re a jerk”

“Yeah, well you’re a bi—” Dean forgets what he was about to say.

“Hello. I’m Castiel Novak. Thank you for allowing me to apply for this position.” A messy headed man is standing in front of the table, reaching out his hand to Dean.

“Um … _hi._ I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean” Sam says after a prolonged moment, eventually taking Castiel’s offered hand while side-eyeing his older brother.

“Oh, yeah—h-hi. Hello” Dean finally stammers, just as Castiel moves back to sit in the empty chair.

A dry silence builds beneath their chins and the three men all look at one another, or more—Sam and Castiel look at Dean as Dean continues to stare at Castiel.

“So—uh, Mr. Novak. Have you done this kind of work before?” Sam asks, eventually kicking Dean in the leg because _Dean’s_ the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions.

“Well, I _have_ done personal security but never on this level. I was the assistant for the CEO of a tech company in the Silicon Valley. The company wasn’t that large, so my position quickly overlapped into setting up his protection details when he would take high-risk meetings. We never encountered any issues, but my former boss felt better with me keeping an eye on things.”

Sam nods as he sits straighter and leans forward, finally turning completely to stare Dean down. “ _Okay_ , well I know _my brother_ here had some more questions for you …” he grunts, clearing his throat a second later to try and snap Dean out of his sudden bout of _stupid_.

“Oh—yeah. Yeah … so … you uh … I read in your … your uh … your resume that you, uh … _ya know_ …” Dean finally tears his eyes away from the man across from him so that he can flip through the papers on the table. “Yeah— _here_ , you uh—you said you know Krav Maga?”

Castiel bobs his head slowly and then folds his hands in his lap. “Yes. I began studying it fifteen years ago, when I started college. My roommate was already very skilled in the art, and I took an interest.”

“In—in _your roommate?_ ” Dean asks, immediately feeling his cheeks heat up because he didn’t intend to say that thought out loud.

Castiel cocks his head to the side as he squints. “In— _Krav Maga_. I began accompanying my roommate to practice, and soon found that I had an affinity for it.”

Dean nods and swallows a few times, finally focusing back down on the man’s application. He can feel Sam’s eyes on the side of his head, probably judging the crap out of him for how he’s acting right now, but Dean doesn’t look over. _He can’t._ He just needs to make it through this interview, but this _Castiel_ guy is not at all what Dean had expected. With a name like that, he thought whoever walked in the door would be some hulking, foreign monster built like Hercules—not a tan, toned, razor jawed, sex god with the brightest blue eyes Dean has ever seen. If Sam wasn’t here, this would basically be one of Dean’s naughty dreams come to life. _Fuck …_ _this is so awkward._ “So … have you … uh … have you ever had to uh … use it? Ya know, Krav Maga?”

Castiel’s face sobers with that and he hangs his chin to his chest. “Yes. I had hoped I would _never_ have to. I like the discipline of the art—the patience that comes with it and the challenge of anticipating your opponent’s next move. It’s like chess, only you use bodies instead of game pieces …”

Dean _really_ wishes this guy hadn’t phrased it that way because now his dick is twitching as he thinks of all the ways this dude could use _his body_.

Thankfully, Castiel moves on. “I never wanted to have to actually apply my knowledge to my every day; but, as I was running through the park one evening, I witnessed a man forcing himself upon a woman. I pulled him off of her, and he then tried to attack _me_ … his pants were still down however, which gave me a very— _clear_ shot at his genitals. I thrusted my knee into his crotch several times until he was incapacitated, and then I called the authorities.”

“Shit …” Dean breathes.

“Was the woman alright?” Sam asks, obviously showing quite a bit more decorum than his older brother.

“She … she was not as bad off as she _could_ _have_ been, but she was still the victim of a sexual assault. What that man had done to her … it was a lot.”

Sam nods and Castiel frowns, and Dean finds himself staring again.

“The man …” Castiel continues after a breath, and it makes Dean lean forward, eager to hear what else this guy has to say, because on top of _looking_ like a sex god, he also _sounds_ like a sex god. His voice is deep and gritty, and makes every one of Dean’s hairs stand on end. He could probably read out every page in the phonebook, and Dean would still have a raging boner by the end of it. “He actually attempted to press charges against _me_ after the incident, because my defense-tactics left him with significant nerve damage in his nether-regions. Apparently, he suffered a loss of function that the doctors said he would likely, _never_ regain; but the woman he attacked testified on my behalf, saying that I was not only defending _her_ , but also myself—so the judge sided with me. _She_ actually said that my actions ‘disarmed’ a dangerous criminal. I found her choice of words amusing. In any event, I thought you should know about the legal issues following the incident. It’s important to be forthcoming in an interview.”

With a huff, Sam starts to respond. “Well uh, we appreciate—”

“So you broke a rapist’s _dick?_ _Dude_ … that’s awesome!” Dean jumps in, finally registering everything that Castiel had said.

“ _Dean_ ” Sam chides, ever the professional-Winchester

“He _disarmed_ a rapist, Sam! That’s badass!” And to his surprise, Castiel chuckles.

“Yes … as much as I had hoped to never actively use Krav Maga, _that_ sort of application is a worthy exception.”

Now, _both_ him and Dean are chuckling, and Sam is looking between the two of them like they’re each a bushel of _crazy_. “Okay—well, tell me, Castiel … what made you interested in _this_ job?

“I enjoy change. I had grown tired of my routine up north, so I decided to move to this area. Of course, I still need to make a living, so I began searching for positions that I knew I would be well suited for—and this one caught my interest. It plays to many of my strengths, but it’s also something completely new, and I like the possibilities it could hold. I assure you though, I would still take your protection very seriously. I would not want you thinking that your safety is a secondary matter.”

“Alright. Good to know—um, anything else you want to ask, Dean?”

Dean scoots up excitedly in his seat. “Yeah—you said you moved on a whim. So does that mean you’re un-attached?”

Sam’s eyes burst as they gawk at the side of Dean’s face, and Castiel seems fairly taken aback by the question as well—but neither are as surprised as Dean is, because even though that’s totally _not_ how he meant the question, that’s how it came out.

“I—I mean, like … _family_. I mean, family obligations … this job can move you around a lot. C’mon—I meant, like … _you know_ … it’d be hard if you have people waiting on you at home, because you may not be there very much.” Dean is yammering and he’s backpedaling, and he scratching at the walls, but all he’s doing is making himself slip deeper into this well of idiocy, so he finally shuts up.

“Oh … I see” Castiel says softly, but  the flare of his nostrils makes Dean think, that he really _doesn’t_. “Well, my siblings are spread out all over, and I don’t have a spouse nor do I have children; therefore traveling for extended periods should not be an issue.”

“Good … good” Dean replies, feeling like his entire face is on fire now.

Sam clears his throat and leans forward once again, quickly stretching out his hand to Castiel when it’s obvious that no one else is going to say anything. “Alright, well thanks for coming in, Mr. Novak. We’re gonna talk and we’ll let you know our decision by tomorrow afternoon.”

“B-but, I had more questions” Dean whimpers.

And Sam shoots him a look. “No— _you’re done_.”

“Oh, alright. Well thank you both for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you” Castiel replies politely, shaking each of their hands one last time before turning and sauntering out the door.

Dean watches him go just a little too closely, and Sam has to slap him in the back of the head before he finally can tear his eyes away. “Ow! Jeez! What was that for?”

“ _You_ … you’re unbelievable! You talk about how _I_ should be taking this all more seriously and then you go and treat this interview like a ‘Dear, Penthouse’ letter!”

“I did not!”

“Oh my god, you _totally_ did! I need a freakin’ shower just from sitting next to you! You’re nasty as hell!”

“Shut up! I just—I wasn’t expecting … _him_.”

Sam rolls his eyes but he's apparently choosing not to comment on that, since he’s standing up a moment later to walk around the front of the table and yank the stack of applications from Dean’s grip. “Well, I guess you were right—there’s no question. _Hank_ was the only _real_ contender.”

“What?” Dean yelps. Immediately leaping to his feet and ripping all the applications back. “No! We can’t hire Hank!”

Sam’s mouth falls open but his face is looking more and more pissed with every breath that tumbles out of it. “You _can’t_ be serious?”

 _He is_ , but how does he explain that to Sam? While worrying his lip between his teeth, Dean slowly puts the stack of papers down onto the table and begins straightening them out, taking extra care of the one on top—with the neat, blue writing that says “Castiel Novak” right in the middle. “I … I just think … that last guy was a better fit.”

“For what?  _Your dick?_ ” Sam scoffs.

“Oh god, Sammy! You’re gross!”

“No, Dean! _You’re_ the gross one! You aren’t being realistic. That guy got you all hot and bothered so now you’re letting _Little Dean_ make this decision.”

“No I’m not! I just don’t think Hank’s the best guy for the job anymore!”

“You know what— _never mind._ I’ll call my agency in the morning and have them send over someone from that company. If you don’t want Hank, then that’s fine—but I’m not going to let you use _this_ job as a way to score.”

Now Dean is getting mad—because, _yeah_ , maybe Castiel is everything wet-dreams are made of, but that’s not why he thinks he’s the right choice, and it’s insulting that Sam would accuse Dean of risking his safety just because he thinks a dude is all kinds of smokin’.

The younger Winchester is almost at the door by the time Dean catches up to him and wheels him around by the shoulder. “Now you listen to me, little brother!” Dean booms, and Sam immediately cowers, because even though he’s taller and probably, more buff, he knows that Dean could take him to the mat in a matter of seconds. “I think Castiel is the best fit because he is the most disciplined. Yeah, Hank has thirty somethin’ years of combat experience, but sometimes, there is such a thing as _too much_. Like you said before, he may just end up killin’ someone because he doesn’t like how they look at ya. This is _Hollywood_ , not the Middle East! _This_ ain’t the job for him—but _Castiel_. He doesn’t _want_ to fight, yet he will if he needs to. He knows the fewest actions it’ll take to get a desired result and he also understands that sometimes this job can fall into a grey area of legality. He’s been to court, he knows right from wrong, he’s serious but not _too_ _serious,_ and he’s trained enough that I think he could really keep you safe from any threat that’s out there. So don’t you go acting like I would put your safety on the line for _anything_. I never have and I never will, got it?”

Sam nods quickly as he holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. _Sorry._ If … if you think the Novak guy is the right choice, then go ahead and call him. This is all _your thing_ anyway.”

Dean huffs approvingly before taking a step back to quit looming over his baby brother.

“But …” Sam adds on, unfolding from himself before putting his hand on the knob of the door, “just remember—things might get complicated if you end up sleeping with him.”

Dean groans but eventually shrugs, spinning back around to go clean everything off of the folding table across the room. “Yeah, well—with an ass like _that_ ... _complicated_ might be worth it.”

***

He had called Castiel by eleven o’clock the next morning, only after making some other calls on Hank’s behalf. The guy _is_ a war veteran after all, and they _did_ kind of imply that he’d be getting the job, so Dean didn’t want to completely screw him over.

A few weeks back, an old coworker of Dean’s had mentioned something about a security gig in Santa Barbara, something dealing with armored cars and high powered weaponry—things that sounded _way more_ up Hank’s alley than holding off crazed fans as Sam walked to and from limos. So Dean went ahead and set everything up, and eventually gave the Sargent all the info about the other gig; and it probably wasn’t true—but Dean could’ve swore the guy was smiling through the phone. Anyway, with his conscience clear, he moved on to calling Castiel and gave him the good news—and then he set up a meeting at two that afternoon so that the man could come in and sign the mountain of paperwork that always accompanies these types of jobs.

It was almost two o’clock now and Dean is in the middle of his living room, pacing back and forth, wondering if telling Castiel to meet him _here_ was actually a mistake. Then again, it’s not like he really has an office or anything. They could’ve met at a Starbucks though—that might’ve looked more professional. Or—would it have looked completely _unprofessional_? _Shit_ … Dean is panicking and there’s really no reason for it.

_This is business._

Castiel is going to be his partner … the _professional_ kind.

This is all what has to be done in order to make sure the guy knows the ropes, and little Sammy gets the best protection possible.

_Protection …_

_When was the last time he bought condoms?_

_Shit_ … _nope, not thinking about that._

A knock on the door makes it hard for him to think about anything else; but he doesn’t waste a second in rushing over to open it.

“Hello, Dean” Castiel says—deep and rumbling, and it makes Dean’s dick perk.

“H-hey, man. Find the place alright?” He steps aside and gestures for Castiel to come in.

“Yes. Your directions were perfect.”

That shouldn’t make Dean puff up with pride, but he does anyway. “Awesome … well, uh—the forms are right over here. It’s your typical stuff: privacy agreements, liability waivers, medical history. _Yada, yada, yada._ ”

Castiel walks over to the coffee table where Dean had laid everything out, and looks at each of the papers carefully. “Yes, it all appears to be in order. Would you like me to sign everything _now,_ or take these home and bring them back to you at a later date?”

He hadn’t really thought about it before, but now that he is—Dean absolutely _hates_ the idea of this guy leaving, so he practically corners him against the couch. “No, no—you can sign ‘em here if you want. Or … well, you can take it all home too. If you would prefer that, I mean—it doesn’t really matter. If you’re in a rush or somethin’ … like, take your time.” _Fuck …_ he’s rambling again. Dean quickly turns, until Castiel can no longer see his face, and then he shuts his eyes and silently scolds himself for being the biggest jackass to ever walk the earth.

“Well, I have no other plans today, so if you don’t mind me sitting for a bit and working through all of this now—it may be the most productive use of my time. Also, should I have any questions—you’ll be right here to answer them.”

Dean’s already grinning by the time he rounds back and looks Castiel in the eye. “Yeah! Totally—I can answer any questions you got. Just throw ‘em at me!”

“Well …” the man hums, “I don’t have any just yet.”

Dean’s cheeks heat up. “Right—okay, well uh … there’s a pen on the table, so go ahead and have a seat.” Castiel follows the direction just before picking up the first form, following it all by grabbing the pen and filling out the top line. Dean watches him intently, noticing how nimble and strong his fingers are. So thick … _they’d probably feel so good in_ — Dean shakes his head to stop the thought. “Do … do you want anything to drink? A beer? Water? Coffee?”

That makes Castiel look up from the paper curiously. “Beer?”

Dean laughs—probably, a little too hard at the other man’s surprise. “Yeah, dude. That’s one of the perks with this job—you don’t really have to be straight laced like ya do in some office gig. If we’re watching Sammy at some fancy Hollywood party, you can have a drink or two. Just as long as you can keep a level head and a watchful eye, I ain’t gonna bust ya.”

“Oh.”  Castiel responds simply, turning back a beat later  to continue filling out the form.

And Dean’s lightheadedness turns to lead in his chest. _Is he … disappointed?_ “But like … you don’t _have_ _to_ drink. I’m not makin’ you or anything … um …”

With another pause, Castiel looks back at him, seeming slightly surprised by the addition to the topic, and he takes a long moment before he says anything else. “Oh, no—I have no problem with drinking or _not_ drinking. I’m just surprised that a _Hollywood party_ is now actually a part of my job requirement. It just feels—a touch surreal.”

Dean is instantly laughing again, relieved that he’s not being accidentally offensive; so he goes and flops next to Castiel on the couch. “Yeah, well … that feeling won’t fade. Let me tell ya! I still can’t believe that this is my life sometimes. It’s been about two years and I still freak out every time I see my little brother’s face staring down at me from that billboard on Grand Ave.”

“I can see how that could be startling.”

“You don’t even know the half of it! And then … _shit_ , there was one time when I invited Sammy over for some brews and a couple of steaks. And he asks if he can bring a friend, right? So I’m like—sure, whatever. And then that kid shows up at my door with freakin’ Adriana Lima on his arm! _Adriana Lima!_ I mean … I didn’t know how to react! I didn’t even want to shake her hand, considering all the times I—” Dean silences himself, suddenly realizing that he’s about to start describing how he _jerks off_ during a freaking business meeting.

“Who’s Adriana Lima?” Castiel asks, clearly not seeing where Dean was heading with this story. _Thank God!_

So Dean sits up and glares at the man. “Adriana Lima? Seriously? Victoria’s Secret model—dark hair, sexy, blue eyes, skin like friggin’ liquid caramel …” and now, he’s basically describing Castiel. _Fuck …_ he really needs to put himself on vocal probation and just let this guy sign the damn paperwork.

Castiel tilts his head again. “Victoria’s Secret? Who is that and what is the secret?”

And Dean almost laughs even harder but nothing about the guy’s expression shows that he’s joking. “Oh my god, _dude_ … you came from the Silicon Valley in _California_ right … not the one on Mars?”

An excited smile immediately graces Castiel’s face—and it’s absolutely _beautiful._ “Did they name one of the valleys on Mars that as well? When did that happen? I’ve been following the Rover’s travels fairly closely but I haven’t heard about any such valley being named. Did that occur today?”

“I … it was a joke, man” Dean stutters, looking Castiel up and down—wanting to think he’s all sort of weird, but instead, he’s just finding him positively _adorable_.

“Oh … hm, well … it sounded plausible” Castiel clips, turning his eyes back to the forms as if nothing about any of the last two minutes was strange at all.

“You … you don’t pay attention to the Hollywood life very much, do you?” Dean asks, pulling Castiel’s focus to him for a third time.

“No” the other man says softly, seeming a little embarrassed now. “Will that be a problem? I can do some research— _given_ , it’s not my preferred subject, but I enjoy the _act_ of studying more than anything, so it wouldn’t matter much as long as I have something new to learn.”

Dean smiles but then waves off the concern, eventually dropping his hand reassuringly onto Castiel’s knee. “ _Nah_ —don’t worry about it. It’s actually probably better that you don’t care about all the glitz and glam. You won’t get sidetracked by some hot actress when you should be looking out for Sammy.”

With a chuckle, Castiel gives Dean a crooked, gummy grin. “Well, I wouldn’t get sidetracked by an _actress_ , whether I knew who she was or not. Now, a hot _actor_ … _maybe_. I would still not know who they were or what they starred in, but I can fall victim to physical attraction just like any man.”

 _He’s gay? Fuck … yes!_ Dean probably should’ve realized it sooner, but his hand is still on Castiel’s knee—and it’s not until he begins squeezing it with all his excitement that the other man finally seems to notice it too.

“Um … Dean?”

“Oh, shit—sorry! _Shit_ …” Dean rips his hand away and then himself from the couch, backing up awkwardly as he gestures over to the hall. “I’m uh—I’m gonna go get you a water. I’ll be right back.” And as soon as he’s out of the living room, he’s jetting down the hallway and into the kitchen, finally bringing himself up to the sink and bracing his body on the ledge.

He kinda wants to vomit, and he kinda wants to go jump in front of traffic on the freeway—and he also kinda wants to feel Castiel’s knee again. Okay … he _really_ wants to feel Castiel’s knee again. The guy _is_ into dudes after all … so, _maybe …_

_Shit … no._

_This is a job._

_This is a business meeting._

Dean should be focusing on getting all the T’s crossed and I’s dotted … even though he really just wants to cross Castiel’s body with his tongue and dot the man’s ass with the tip of his dick.

_Wow …_

_He needs Jesus … a lot of Jesus._

“Dean?”

Dean whips around, suddenly face to face with the sexiest freakin’ face he’s faced in a while.

Castiel wonders at him carefully. “I wasn’t sure if you heard me before, but I actually _would_ prefer a beer if the offer still stands.”

Dean forces a small smile but then nods, slowly inching around the other man’s body so that he can make his way to the fridge. He opens it up and tries to breathe in the cool air, hoping it’ll help him chill the fuck out. _This is getting seriously out of hand._

“If it’s not too forward—can I ask why I make you so nervous?”

And now … Dean could swallow a god damn iceberg and there’d still be no saving him. He snaps his head back—terrified and gawking at Castiel, who has casually leaned himself against the kitchen counter, looking a lot less professional and poised than he did a moment ago on the couch.

“It’s just— _well_ ” the man continues, peering around Dean’s home with thoughtful eyes, “yesterday during the interview … and _now_ … you seem as if you have a hard time relaxing around me, and if we are to work together, I want you to feel comfortable. This job is going to require a lot of trust between us, but if you can’t even hold a conversation with me without feeling intimidated, then maybe I’m not the most suitable choice for this position.”

Dean wants to say something—he really does, but what the fuck is he supposed to say? He _is_ nervous, and it’s so glaring and obvious, they could probably see it from the Silicon Valley on Mars.

“Is it the fact that I’ve had to actively use Krav Maga before? Do you think I may not know how to judge a situation? Because I promise you that the majority of the training is about discipline and noting your surroundings, and finding ways to de-escalate a problem before any level of physicality is needed.”

“What?” Dean finally garbles, straightening up and shutting the fridge. “No—no, man. That’s not it, okay?” He eventually gulps down his fear to desperately try and come up with something— _anything_ that sounds even halfway legitimate. “Sorry … I … I’m not intimidated by you” Dean finally lies—at least, it’s not in the way that Castiel is thinking. “I guess, I’m just a little nervous about actually … well … actually _trusting_ Sammy’s safety to someone else. That’s always been on _me_ , ya know? Ever since we were kids, so it’s just a little weird thinking that I’ll need to hand that responsibility over.” And that actually _isn’t_ a lie … not at all.  Dean is nervous as hell about letting someone else watch over his baby brother, but if Castiel picks it apart enough, he’ll easily see that none of that explains Dean’s recent dumbass behavior … but hopefully the guy will just buy it and move on.

“It seems like you’re a very attentive older brother” Castiel says after a moment, just staring at Dean like he has a tree growing out of his face.

“Uh—tryin’ to be.”

With a small smile, Castiel then adjusts his body against the counter—seeming even more at ease once he’s done. “It’s nice to see a family care so much about each other. I love my siblings, but I’m also completely fine with only talking to them a few times a year. We’re not necessarily _close_ —nothing like you and Sam.”

Dean takes a deep breath now, because _this_ topic, even _this_ _setting_ , all seems quite a bit easier to handle than what they were previously dealing with; so he decides to just roll with it. Maybe it’ll help get him used to simply being in the same room as Castiel. _Baby steps._ “That’s a shame. I mean, my brother can drive me crazy and all, but I don’t know what my life would be like if I didn’t see or at least, _talk_ to him every day. Like, I don’t know how _not_ to be close with the kid.”

“That’s simple … just have two highly esteemed psychologist parents and eight other siblings all competing for their approval, and then you may find it easier to break some bonds.”

“So … rough childhood then?” Dean asks, finding that keeping the focus on Castiel is making his muscles relax some. He eventually turns back around to grab a couple of beers from the fridge. _Maybe a drink will help too._

“Not rough, per say. Just stressful. I spent so much of my time trying to appeal to my father, that by the end of high school, I had nothing that appealed to _me._ So I simply _stopped_ trying.” Castiel soon took the beer that Dean gave him and gingerly pulled off the top—which wouldn’t be that big of a deal, if it was actually a screw-cap.

_Shit, that’s hot._

Castiel takes a long pull from the bottle and then keeps talking. “Well—that’s misleading. I still _tried_. I enjoyed school; so when I got to college, I did well in all my classes, but I didn’t major in the sciences or get on the fast track to law or medicine like my parents expected. Instead, I just studied whatever sounded interesting at the time. And then I ended up getting a degree in ‘Advanced Qualitative Reasoning’ which is basically the college’s way of saying I’m indecisive, but I’ve done too much work for them to keep me around.”

Dean snorts a laugh as he pops the lid off his bottle with his pinky ring,  before tossing the cap onto the shelf beside him.  He then downs half of his beer, realizing that he's really enjoying all that he’s learning about the quirky, sexy man in his kitchen.

Castiel smiles too before turning his observation to the beer in his hand. “Look at me—going on and on about myself. I know you don’t know me very well, but trust me when I say, this is fairly out of character.”

“Well … hey, ya did say this job is all about trust, so it’s good you trust me enough to talk about yourself, right?”

A slight tinge of pink graces Castiel’s cheeks, and he eventually shakes his head. “Well, actually—I think I’m talking more because … you make me a little nervous too.”

Dean chokes on his beer. “Wh—what? _I_ make _you_ nervous?”

Castiel nods. “Yes. With as much as you care about your brother’s safety, and with as passionate as you are about what you do—I suppose I’m just a little nervous that I won’t live up to your expectations. I can watch out for your brother and keep him safe … but that's only part of this position, isn't it? The other part is about fitting into this dynamic that you have already established, and I tend be awkward. I don’t normally fit into small, tight knit groups. I’m either a loner, or I’m a cog in a very large machine. So—anything in between makes me uneasy.”

 _Huh ... well that's understandable._ Dean wipes at the corner of his mouth while studying Castiel closely. And now that he’s doing so—he can see it. The man’s posture may be relaxed and his hands are steady in their movements, but his eyes look worried. He’s telling the truth—Dean makes him nervous, and something about that fact actually makes Dean feel a lot less nervous overall. “Look, man” he begins, setting down his beer on the closest counter so that he can move a little closer to Castiel. “I’m not gonna lie—getting used to how Sam and I do things will probably be a little tricky. We got an unspoken language, and we always know what the other is thinkin’ … even if we don’t want them to. So, it’ll take you some time to figure it all out, but I’m not lookin’ to make that hard on you. I want you to get into the swing of things just as quickly as possible, because the faster you do, the easier it’ll be for me to hand over the reins every now and then. So ask me whatever you need to ask, and you can ask Sam too. We’ll fill you in the best we can so that eventually, we all can just flow— _ya know?_ ”

Castiel nods—but soon, his eyes round out, and then he’s leaning forward and looking Dean dead in the face. “Do you know what we need to do, Dean?”

The new cloeness makes Dean’s breath solidify in his throat, and now it's impossible for him to speak at all—but his hopeful dick is cheering loudly from behind the zipper of his jeans. He tries to will it down as he shakes his head.

“We need to _spar_ … practice Krav Maga together. I have found that the partners I continually spar with, are the ones who I understand the most. If you and I _spar,_ then I feel like this trust will be built up much more quickly.”

It’s not a bad idea actually—and the thought of learning some new defensive skills sounds kinda fun, but it’s the vision of getting pinned to the floor by this delicious, blue eyed angel that’s making Dean terrified over every bit of it.

“What do you think? We could meet at my training center tomorrow. I would need to reserve the room, but it’s not a very busy location, so I don’t see that being an issue.” Castiel is practically bouncing with excitement now—giddy with this idea that could potentially solve both of their anxiety problems. And Dean _wants_ to explain that his anxiety is less _nerves_ and more _phallic,_ but he can’t find it within himself to kill all this guy’s hope.

So the next thing Dean knows, he’s forcing a smile and nodding enthusiastically, trying to match Castiel’s confidence in this plan. “Yeah, man … that sounds awesome.”

***

The only time Castiel could reserve the room wasn’t until six in the afternoon, and he had warned Dean not to eat just prior to their practice, because it can be easy to overexert yourself and get sick. But, what Castiel _didn’t_ know and what Dean didn’t tell him, is that Dean's stomach runs on a very strict clock—and by six p.m. every evening for the last thirty-plus years, Dean has sat down at a table to eat. Now, that’s _not_ happening and he’s freaking _hungry_.

Dean is nervous and he’s hungry, and frankly, a little grumpy because of it all—and to add insult to hunger pains, Castiel shows up to the training center in nothing but some fitted cotton pants and a tight tank top. So now, Dean is aroused on top of hungry, and nervous and grumpy, and … _this was a really, really bad idea._

“Hello, Dean. Are you ready to get started?” Castiel asks, walking up to him as he stands just outside of the padded room.

“Uh, yeah—sure thing. Am … am I dressed okay?” he asks, now looking down at his own t-shirt and basketball shorts with a decent amount of concern.

Castiel takes a step back and looks him over, eventually shrugging while he nods. “If I was planning or doing my typical level of attack with you, then you’d probably want to change. A lot of loose clothing gets in the way. But since we are focusing more on the discipline and the anticipatory aspect today, what you’re wearing is fine.”

Dean gives him a weak smile. “Alright—cool.”

“Great. Follow me and we can begin with the basics.”

Dean nods, and then walks into the room behind Castiel, feeling himself start to sweat when the other man rounds back and shuts the door behind them.

“I don’t think anyone else will be here this late, but just in case—I’d like to have the privacy.”

Dean nods again as he looks around the room. It’s fairly empty expect for a punching bag in the corner and a couple of free standing, padded pillars on the other side—probably meant for practicing kicks. It’s nothing surprising, and Dean has done enough boxing and wrestling to know that this won’t feel too out of place for him; but he’s never been in the situation where he also wants to mount the guy he’s supposed to be knocking out, so this room feels really foreign because of it. And now, Dean is having a hard time catching his breath.

“Alright—the first thing we need to focus on is the fighting stance. Now, I don’t know what experience you already have with any type of combat …”

Dean turns around and meets Castiel’s eyes, and they look even bluer now that they’re surrounded by yards and yards of blue matting. “Uh—I wrestled in high school, and I started boxing after that. Nothing _professional,_ just did it because I liked the challenge.”

Castiel smiles and then comes a little closer. “Well, boxing shares _some_ similarities to this, but there are also some trained habits that you’ll have that will make this feel awkward, so bear with me and I'll do my best to explain why things are the way they are.”

“Yeah, yeah … sure. Just tell me what to do” Dean says, immediately closing his eyes because that _wasn’t_ supposed to sound sexy, but his brain is set on _sexy-default_ right now, and suddenly—these loose basketball shorts seem like the worst idea he’s ever had.

“Okay great. So first of all—distance is key. If you can keep a safe distance between you and your opponent, then you have the advantage.” Castiel takes a step back to demonstrate, and Dean nods as he watches him. “Next, you want to jut out your non-dominant leg, so that your dominant heel is behind your body and raised, then all your power is in the back leg. That way, if you need to leap or pivot, it’ll be easier to do so.”

Dean matches the stance, pushing out his left leg and bending the knee of his right. “Like this?” he asks, looking down at himself and holding out his arms.

“Don’t crouch so much—you’ll actually tire out your muscles if you stay too low. You want to be as relaxed as possible while still being on guard.”

“Okay …” Dean mumbles, straightening out a little and then looking back at Castiel for what to do next.

 _“Good—now,_ you want to tuck your chin down and lift your arms up—with your hands open and out, about six to eight inches in front of your face.” Castiel shows Dean the stance and even though it seems like it would look a little silly, it actually makes the man appear very intense, and it puts Dean on edge.

“Like this?” he finally asks, feeling way too exposed now. In boxing, he’s used to being tucked into himself—hands close to his face, protecting it and ready to punch, but this feels likes he’s trying to surrender before the fight has even begun.

“Pull your elbows into your chest a little and lower your chin more.”

“Don’t I want my eyes up?”

“Well, you want to be able to see your opponent’s entire body. If they’re about to kick, you want to see their feet prepare for the kick, so that way you can prepare for the block. With your chin lower, you can anticipate more moves.”

 _That makes sense_. Dean follows the direction and then holds the position, waiting for Castiel’s approval.

“Alright, good. Now, I want you to approach me and watch how this position changes.”

Dean swallows hard, knowing that _approaching Castiel_ has gotten him in trouble before; but he figures that the guy can just knock his lights out if he starts to get stupid again, so Dean moves forward.

“Now— _you see_ , as you close the distance, I move back and also pull my hands closer to my face, but I never change the leg position. The leg position gives me stability and I can easily move wherever I need to with my feet like this.” Castiel demonstrates by stepping back and then side to side. “I want to always be ready, but also allow myself the time and space to think about what I need to do, so this position is optimal for both.”

“Yeah—I get it; but, like—what if someone is just comin’ at you full force?” Dean asks—because he _is_ curious about all this. He hasn’t ever actually seen Krav Maga practiced, other than in movies and that’s all fake bullshit. The tactical elements seem really interesting, so he does want to learn—and maybe if he asks enough questions about it, he’ll learn to focus on something _other_ than Castiel’s lips.

The other man then smiles slyly. _“Well,_ come at me full force and find out.”

 _Fuck … no such luck._ “Seriously?”

The other man solidifies his fighting stance. “Yes—you want to know what will happen, and I want to show you.”

Dean fidgets in place. “Like … so … uh … you want me just to … _come at you?_ ”

“Take your best shot, Winchester.”

And now Dean’s dick is practically a mast in his shorts, and it’ll only be a second more before Castiel notices—he has no other choice. So Dean puts up his hands and moves towards the other man _fast,_ lunging at the last second and throwing a _one-two_ jab, just like he would in the ring. But unlike in the ring, Castiel doesn’t tilt back, nor does he step out of the path of the blows. Instead, both of Dean’s punches are knocked to either side before his arms can even fully extend, and then, Castiel is pivoting to his side, and forcing Dean’s body to follow through with its own momentum, making him stumble forward and eventually fall flat on his face while Castiel continues to bob and grin just behind.

“Ah—shit!” Dean groans, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees while looking down at the puddle of drool he just left on the mat.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, but he sounds far more pleased with himself than he does, _concerned._

 _“Yeah—yep._ My ego is a kinda busted, but other than that, I’m good.”

Castiel laughs, and the sound fills the padded room with so much needed comfort, that it forces Dean to roll over onto his ass and join in.

“Man, I gotta tell ya—I’m feeling better already. I don’t think anything will happen to Sammy as long as I got _you_ around.”

The laughter tempers and a moment later, Dean watches as Castiel walks towards him—offering a hand up and such a genuine smile, it fills his belly more than food ever could. “I knew that this would help” Castiel says as he yanks Dean back to his feet; but once he’s there, the other man doesn’t let go of his hand. “I really _do_ want you to trust me, Dean.”

Dean licks his lips; now standing closer to Castiel’s face than he ever has before—and it’s making every one of his nerves sing. “Well … you’re off to a good start.”

The room grows still and the two just stand there, staring, hands still clasped together as soft smiles curl up the corners of their mouths, and they stay like that for longer than either of them apparently expect to, because soon, Castiel is clearing his throat and letting go. And then he backs up and focuses on the floor between them. “Okay, well … after learning the main stance, we should move on to jabs and crosses. Those will be your base attacks.”

“Yeah, _okay—cool”_ Dean breathes, taking a moment before he follows Castiel back to the middle of the room to reaffirm his position.

_Just breathe ... you're fine._

 

 

After another hour, Dean thinks he’s learned quite a lot—he’s learned how to stand, how to jab, _when_ to jab, when to move away, how to block and deflect. He’s also learned that Castiel smells really good when he sweats, which should probably make Dean feel gross, but he’s too tired and hungry to care at this point. Overall, this evening has been really educational, and stressful, and exhausting … and now that they’re winding it down, he’s really looking forward to grabbing some take-out tacos on the way home and passing the fuck out.

“I really appreciate you agreeing to do this with me, Dean. I know it was probably a little out of your comfort zone.”

Dean turns around from chugging some water at the drinking fountain, eventually shaking his sloshy head at the man. He swallows. “Nah, it was fun. I think this could be something I could really get into. It’s got an edge that boxing doesn’t.”

“It certainly does. That’s why I was drawn to it—the mentality and the focus that’s involved makes everything a bit more challenging.”

“Yeah totally” Dean agrees, smiling as Castiel moves past him to take a drink as well.

“And throwing grown men into walls is very fun too.”

Dean promptly gags on his own spit, because even though he _knows_ his ears heard “throwing” and his brain registered the word as “throwing”, somewhere deep in the pits of his gut, it seemed like Castiel said “fucking” … he liked _fucking_ grown men into walls. And that was all it took for _Little Dean_ to make his long anticipated appearance. If he wasn’t so tired and hungry, he might’ve been able to fight it off one more time—but he simply couldn’t manage it now, and of course, Castiel turns back around at that exact moment and notices instantly. _Of course he does—why wouldn’t he?_ He’s trained for fifteen years to see even the slightest changes in his opponent’s body, and _this_ change wasn’t exactly _subtle._

“Um …” Castiel hums hoarsely, eyes narrowing on _Little Dean’s_ forceful wave.

“I … _shit_ …” Dean yelps, finally thinking enough to throw his hands over his raging erection and back away from the other man. “Sorry—shit, I’m sorry … that’s not … it’s not what you think. I’m just—”

“Aroused?” Castiel offers, finally dragging his eyes back up to Dean’s.

And Dean instantly looks away. “Okay … so _it is_ what you think.”

“Does the idea of me throwing grown men into walls— _arouse you_ , Dean?”

His face is burning red and he’s so tired, he feels like he could cry. This has to be one of the _most_ embarrassing moments of his life—and he did accidentally flash everyone during an 8 th grade school assembly, but that was an honest mistake. _This though_ … this was bound to happen, and Dean just wanted to pretend like it wouldn’t. _Fuck … Sam was right._ Everything is complicated and messed up now, and all because Dean couldn’t push his eager dick aside and just focus on the job.

“Dean?” Castiel presses, taking a wary step forward, but he never blinks or breaks his focus.

“Fuck— _I’m really sorry, man!_ You can quit … I can help you find some other position. This is … this is _really_ fucked up, I know and I’m sorry.”

“Why on earth would I want to quit?”

Dean’s mouth falls open, and he snaps his gaze back to Castiel—but just as he does, the man is rushing into him, eventually throwing out his hands and pushing Dean back through the door to the sparring room.

“Now— _if you consent_ , I’d like to see _what else_ gets you aroused” the other man purrs, quickly locking the door behind them while eyeing Dean hungrily.

It takes the last of his strength to nod, but as soon as he does, Castiel is sweeping Dean’s feet out from under him and sending him toppling to the floor—yet, he somehow has his hand behind Dean’s head before it has the chance to hit the mat, and Castiel cradles it carefully, all the while, tugging on the tips of Dean’s hair.

“Something tells me … you’re the type of man who likes it a little _rough.”_

Dean’s cock is practically ripping through his shorts now, and Castiel side eyes it—eventually throwing his leg over Dean’s middle and straddling him.

“Well, that’s a _yes”_ the other man smirks.

Dean lets out an eager, excited moan but Castiel doesn’t give him a chance to revel in the glee for long—because soon, he’s bending down and pressing their lips together, using teeth and tongues to keep it all interesting; and Dean feels almost like a bystander in the whole thing. He has no control here. He’s nothing more than a boneless heap—vulnerable and open to whatever attack Castiel has planned for him, and … _fuck_ —Dean wouldn’t want it any other way.

“I told you before—” Castiel whispers, pulling away from Dean’s lips for a moment so they can both catch their breath, “ _I_ could fall victim to physical attraction just like any man, and I’ve been falling for _you_ ever since that interview.”

“Yeah?” Dean wheezes, astonished and elated by the confession.

Castiel grins and nods. “The more I get to know you, the more attracted I become. You’re passionate and loyal, tough and willing—but also a bit of a submissive by the looks of us now …”

A breathless laugh escapes Dean’s lips—and he shrugs. “What can I say, I always get turned on by someone who could easily kick my ass.”

“Mmm” Castiel moans, deep in the back of his throat—and it’s the sexiest, dirtiest thing Dean has ever heard in his life. “And I like someone who’s willing to give themselves over to me. _Trust me completely._ Trust is so very important, don't you agree?”

“Yeah” Dean wheezes again, suddenly feeling like he wants to trust Castiel with his life.

“So … do you trust me, Dean?”

“Fuck … I love how you say my name.” He’s lost in a delirium of arousal and sweat.

“I need to hear you say it, Dean.”

“Yes!” Dean practically shrieks. “Yes, Castiel … I trust you! God, please—just do whatever you want to me!”

Castiel chuckles lowly. “Oh, no need to beg me, Dean …” he then bends close and licks the curve of Dean’s lip, “I’m _planning_ to.”

With a forceful thrust, Dean’s body is suddenly being pressed hard into the mat—and then the world is spinning, or more—Dean finds that _he’s_ spinning, rolling ass over chin, down the blue padding, until he’s thrown onto his back again by the powerful hands of one Castiel Novak. _Sex god,_ Krav Maga Master, and as it so happens—Dean’s dream dom. And then the other man is straddling him a second time, but now, Castiel has Dean’s arms splayed out to the side and pinned beneath his knees—and a cotton clothed cock is hanging heavy just above Dean’s chin.

“Do you want my cock in your mouth, Dean?”

“Y—yes please” Dean pants, already feeling his taste buds crying out for it.

“Mm … _so polite._ I like that.” Castiel then inches up, digging his knees into Dean’s biceps, just enough to be keep him on the edge of  pleasure and pain. And once he’s positioned, Castiel slips his hands down his own long, lean torso, until those thick, nimble fingers are playing with the hem of those cotton pants. And then with a simple flick of his wrist, a gorgeous, girthy dick is pulled out and looming over Dean’s lips, just begging to be devoured.

He lifts up his head and laps at it eagerly, but Castiel moves his hips away.

“Ah, ah … slow down, Dean. I like to take my time— _move slow_. I can’t have you just gobbling me up and finishing me off, can I? Where’s the tension? Where’s the fun?”

Dean nods, even though the thought of waiting even one second more seems worse than death.

“Good … now I showed you mine, so I want to see _yours.”_ And with that, Castiel twists his body around and reaches beneath Dean’s shorts—swiftly grabbing onto his dick like a baton at a relay race.

Dean throws his head back with a moan and arches his body off the mat. Castiel’s hand feels _amazing—better_ than he could have ever dreamed, and the guy hasn’t even _stroked_ him yet.

“Oh—very nice. Very nice, indeed. It would seem you’re a man of _many_ gifts, Dean Winchester.”

He would beam with pride, if he wasn’t so busy melting into nothingness.

“Now … I want you to slowly lift your head up and take me into your mouth. Can you do that for me, Dean?”

“Y-yes” Dean groans through gritted teeth, trying to calm himself enough to flatten out again so that he can do as he’s told.

“Take your time. I’ll wait … watching you squirm is very entertaining anyway.”

Dean moans again. “Not helping!”

“Apologies … I’ll be quiet” but just as he silences, Castiel tightens his grip on Dean’s cock, giving it one short, but firm tug.

“Oh fucking fuck! Shit!” Dean cries out, thrashing against the floor and bucking up against Castiel’s body, but the other man rides him like a seasoned cowboy, not even batting an eye.

“ _Such filth_ … I would’ve never suspected such things to come from such a pretty mouth.”

“Ah—god, you’re fuckin’ killin me!”

“Then you seem to be taking to  death quite well.”

Dean laughs in spite of his impending implosion. “Jesus… if I survive _this,_ I’m gonna marry you.”

Castiel chuckles and strokes Dean’s dick again. “If you survive this _, I’ll accept_.”

And that was just cocky enough—just _challenging_ enough, that Dean mustered up the last of his will, deciding that he needs to even the playing field here … by at least a little. With one more steadying inhale, he relaxes his body, finally turning his chin back down and lifting his head, sucking in the other man’s cock with his very next breath.

Castiel shudders and his body tenses on top of him, giving Dean room to suck him in a little more. “ _Dean_ —good god, you are gifted in this too!”

He thrusts his tongue up and around Castiel’s tip, swallowing greedily as it leaks into his mouth.

And the act makes Castiel thrust forward, fucking past Dean’s lips in a steady rhythm. Then, his hand falls in sync with the rest of him, gliding up and down Dean’s dick like a piston—perfectly timed, _efficient,_ designed to make Dean fall completely apart.

He moans around the other man’s thick, throbbing cock—and he's still struggling against him as Castiel pins him down, but not enough to actually free himself, because Dean loves how being stuck is making him feel; and all his senses are igniting inside him, boiling into a pleasure pool at the base of his belly. If Castiel keeps at it for just a _little_ longer, Dean will be done for—and that excites him more than anything.

 _“Mmf_ … you know, Dean? I enjoyed this art form because it allowed me to anticipate someone’s actions … but I _did not_ anticipate _this_.”

Dean would tell him how he didn’t anticipate it either, but his mouth is rather preoccupied at the moment.

“A man like _you_ —actually being attracted to men. Being attracted to _me?_ Well … I’m just very glad that I applied for this job.”

“Meh oo” Dean mumbles, rather un-sexily around the girth in his mouth, but the other man doesn’t seem to mind.

“Goodness, you’re charming. How can you still be so charming, even like _this?_ ”

Dean shrugs but continues to suck Castiel dry, kind of amazed that this is the most relaxed he’s felt in the last two days, when in all honesty—this should make him the most tense.

After another minute of sucks and strokes, Castiel’s skin starts to glisten, and Dean gets a little distracted by watching the sweat bead on his forehead—that is, until he notices those blue eyes drilling into him.

“Dean—Dean, _I’m close_ ” Castiel grits, finally looking a little crazed and unhinged—closer to how Dean has been this entire time.

And maybe it’s what Castiel wanted him to believe, but Dean had been fairly proud of himself for hanging on as long as he has. He’s of course, _wanted_ to come, but he thought he was controlling it—that is, until Castiel gripped him harder and twisted up with such precision and skill, that Dean realized, he was never the one in control of _anything._ He’s been completely at the whim of this man since the moment they met, and now that Castiel is ready to explode, he’s going to make Dean burst with him. That’s just how it’s going to be … and Dean is one hundred percent _okay_ with that.

“I’m … Dean … I—” Castiel is no sooner spilling into Dean’s mouth, while simultaneously pulling every ounce of anything out of Dean as well.

He gags, but manages to swallow down the majority, still convulsing wildly on the waves of his own orgasm the entire time. It’s a blur after that—he remembers Castiel bending down to kiss him, and wipe the remnants of his release off the side of Dean’s cheek.

He also remembers the other man then handing him a towel.

Dean vaguely remembers saying the word “tacos” but then the world went black.

***

“Dean? Dean … wake up.”

Dean opens his eyes, feeling sore all over and unsure of where the hell he is, or if he’s actually even alive anymore. Bright, smiling blues are the first thing he sees. “C-castiel?”

“You can call me _Cas_ if you like. After what we just did, a bit of informality is justified.”

“What we just …?” _Oh shit … it wasn’t a dream._ That _actually_ happened. They actually just … “oh … oh fuck.”

“Your arms are probably going to hurt for a while. I wasn’t planning on pinning you for as long as I did, but then again … I wasn’t expecting you to _enjoy_ being pinned quite so much.”

Dean squints his eyes shut and then opens them up once more. _Yep, Cas is still here_ —looking just as tousled and gorgeous as ever. Dean then takes a deep breath and starts to sit up, and Cas’s hands are right there, helping him too. Soon, he’s upright and propped against the wall of the sparring room, looking around it like its unrecognizable now. “Tell me …” he eventually croaks, rubbing at his eyes while still trying to sort everything out, “tell me I _didn’t_ just come and then _immediately_ fall asleep like some clichéd joke.”

Castiel chuckles but then shakes his head. “No, you didn’t.”

Dean sighs with relief and then lulls back with a smile. “Okay, _good.”_

“You made a request for tacos _first,_ and _then_ you fell asleep.”

Dean shuts his eyes again. “Oh god … wow.”

“What?” Castiel asks, sounding thoroughly amused by all of this.

“I’m the most embarrassing man alive, _that’s what._ ”

“Well, I still think you’re fairly charming.”

Dean smiles in spite of himself, finally peeking down to look at the other man—who is too adorable and genuine for words. “Well, glad ya think so I guess.”

Castiel grins. “Oh!” he says suddenly, popping up to his feet with minimal effort just to zip out the door a moment later. All the movement makes Dean want to pass out again, but he refrains.

And he’s about to call after the other guy, but Castiel is no sooner reappearing, now with two fast-food bags in his hands.

“While you were sleeping, I went down the road and got you some tacos. There’s apparently a Mexican food establishment on every corner around here. They’re like Starbucks.”

Dean is gawking—not only because Castiel is now holding the most delicious smelling tacos to ever be created, but also because he’s acting like it’s all _no big deal_. Like this is an everyday kind of thing, and Dean should just politely smile, say thank you and eat his post-orgasm meal with a napkin tucked beneath his chin.

_No …_

Castiel doesn’t seem to understand it at all, but he is literally the _epitome_ of Dean’s dreams right now. “Wow.”

“Wow, what?” Cas asks, tilting his head as he stares down at Dean on the floor.

And now, Dean can’t help but laugh. “Wow _you!_ I mean the – the sex! The tacos! The … the _you!_ ”

“You’re not making much sense right now, Dean” Castiel mutters simply, but he carries on setting the bags down between them, eventually sitting himself cross-legged onto the mat so that he can start unpacking their food. “Now, do you like chicken or beef? I got several of both just in case.”

And what Dean wants to say is “I just want _you”_ but that sounds cornier than the tortillas wrapping up the tacos, so instead he just takes one of the beefs and smiles blissfully as he watches the other man begin to eat.

***

New York Fashion Week is always absolutely _insane,_ and Dean was kind of dreading it—that is, until _Castiel_ came along. Then, the idea of spending a week in the Big Apple didn’t sound nearly as bad. Somehow, that man can make even Dean’s worst nightmares, just a little bit appealing.

 

“So we’ll arrive at the south entrance, and that’s where they’ll have the red carpet set up” Dean says, pointing at the blueprint on his phone so that Castiel can get a visual.

“I don’t think it’s red, Dean” Sam cuts in—and Dean looks up to glare at the back of his brother’s head as he lazes on the couch of their hotel suite.

 _“Okay—_ what color is it then?” Dean hisses.

“Blue, purple … _I dunno_ , but I don’t think it’s red” Sam grumbles, flipping through channels without a care in the world.

“Whatever! _God_ … now can you be quiet? I’m trying to prep Cas for tonight.”

“By the sounds of it, you prepped him _plenty_ last night” Sam snorts.

Dean quickly picks up one of the magazines off the small dining table and chucks it at the back of his brother’s head.

“Ah! Woah! Watch the face! I’m walking tonight!” Sam hisses, flipping around to glare Dean down from across the room.

“Scars will just make you more interesting” Dean quips.

“Alright, boys … you can bicker all you want _after_ this week, but for now—let’s just focus on getting _through_ it” Castiel rumbles coolly, and his sensibility makes Dean smile.

“Ugh, God—you’re both sappy and gross” Sam moans, spinning back around and turning his attention once more to the TV.

“He’s just jealous” Dean laughs while simultaneously reaching over to  pinch Cas’s ass.

“Actually, I think you mean _envious._ If he were jealous, then that would imply that he and I were the ones in the relationship and he’d be worried about losing me to you.”

Dean peers up at the other man with his face screwed into confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Never mind” Castiel laughs, leaning back over to point at Dean’s phone. “Now, you said we’ll be coming in through the south entrance?”

***

Just like Dean suspected, it was _absolute mayhem._ From the paparazzi to the screaming fans, the place _erupted_ as soon as Sammy stepped out of the limo.

“Sam! Oh my god! Sam Winchester! Over here!” one girl screams, waving frantically as Sam passes her by.

Dean and Cas flank each of his sides, making sure there’s just enough space for the photographers to get clear shots of the model, while still being close enough to jump in just in case something happens.

“Sam! Sam! Over here! Look this way!” One man yells, lifting a giant camera to his face just as Sam turns and smolders in his direction.

Dean rolls his eyes, because anyone wanting to drool all over his nerdy baby brother _still_ makes him laugh.

“Hey, good to see you! Hey!” Sam calls out, waving at the crowd behind the barriers, and a chorus of high pitched screams immediately follow.

Dean chuckles but then he looks over to Cas—wanting to see how _he’s_ handling all of this. The last couple months since he started this job, they’ve only done really small events, so the raucous was barely a _blip_ on the radar. But _this_ was like an atomic bomb going off, and Dean was worried that the man might be feeling a little overwhelmed.

Castiel scans to his left and catches Dean watching him—and then he nods ahead, as if telling Dean to keep focused.

 _He’s fine_.

“Woah! If it isn’t Sam Winchester! America’s favorite college boy!”

Dean recognizes the voice instantly, and he cringes—because he was really hoping that they’d be able to avoid this clown, _but no such luck_. Reese McCanton was another model, always nipping at Sammy’s heels during every fashion show and photoshoot. If people actually do have arch nemesis in real life—Reeese would be Sam’s, at least ... he was in Dean’s opinion. Sam doesn’t really seem too bothered by the guy, but something about him rubs Dean the wrong way. He quickly looks over and sees Reese coming out from the crowd—apparently he had ducked past the barriers to go sign some autographs, judging by the sharpie in his hand.

But before Dean can go clear a path for the other model to get through, Castiel appears at Dean’s side. “Do we know that man?” he asks, sounding concerned while keeping a heavy eye on Reese just as he starts to cross the barrier.

And Dean is about to answer him, but then a young woman lunges forward and tries to grab at Sam’s arm, and Dean has to leap between them to block her from getting a clear hold. Yet, with his focus on _her,_ he doesn’t note the panic that’s now growing on Castiel’s face—because Reese has just _crossed_ the barrier, and he’s coming in fast at Sam—holding out his arms in the hopes of a hug.

It seems to happen in slow motion, but in actuality, it’s all too quick for Dean to even _hope_ to stop it.

Just as he looks away from the woman to answer Castiel’s initial question, he spots the other bodyguard darting around Sam’s side, putting his himself between him and Reese.  With the motion, Dean instantly recognizes Castiel's stance ... _his fighting stance_ , ready to defend— ready to _attack_. He has watched the man stand like that almost everyday for the last two months; and he knows that when Cas is in position, whatever happens _next_ will be so fast, no one will even see it play out.

Reese takes one final step to close the distance between him and Sam, and Castiel drops low,  immediately sweeping Reese’s legs out from under him.

The crowd gasps just as Castiel stills, lunging forward a second later and pinning the lanky model to the floor with his knees.

“It’s okay, Dean! I got him! Your brother is safe!” Castiel calls out happily, looking back down the walkway at him with a grin—which slowly fades once he notices all the shocked and silent faces in the crowd surrounding them.

“Wh-what are you doing? _Cas!_ ” Sam yelps, frantically whacking the other man in the arm in order to get him off of his famous friend. “Dean!” Sam then bellows once Castiel refuses to budge. He looks back over his shoulder, eyes begging his older brother to help him. “Dean, tell him who this is!”

But Dean can’t say a word, he can't even move … his knees are weak.  And even though they’re probably going to get their asses _sued_ for this, and even though they’re all going to be in the middle of a shitstorm of drama for at least the following month—all Dean can do is smile, because Castiel is doing _exactly_ what he promised he'd do. _He's protecting Sammy,_ and _now—_ Dean knows _exactly_ what people mean when they say "falling in love."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by some tags from the lovely [cassammydean](http://cassammydean.tumblr.com) on tumblr. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at [castiel-left-his-mark-on-me](http://castiel-left-his-mark-on-me.tumblr.com)
> 
> For more Destiel and Cockles smut, fluff and feels, check out the rest of my Ao3.


End file.
